


Family Business

by OUATgirl



Category: The Blacklist (US TV)
Genre: F/M, I watched the finale and pulled an all nigher, I'm Sorry, Light Angst, Make no mistake, Or maybe not so light, Post-Season/Series 06, Slow Burn, also, because I'm soft and I cant help myself, there's some fluff around here too, this is a Lizzigton story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-07-25 16:00:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 19,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20028478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OUATgirl/pseuds/OUATgirl
Summary: Liz has her daughter back.She asked Red to stay for dinner.Red went to Paris.Red found Katarina Rostova.Katarina knocked him out and threw him in a van.And then what?A new threat has risen from the dead and is on the horizon. When Katarina Rostova threatens everything conquered until now, nobody will let her win that easily.In the midst of pain and fear. Liz remembers that family isn't dictated by biology, and she will fight for her family with all she has. Luckily, she won't have to do it alone---------------------------------Or, Red and Liz need to get their crap together and get together and they only seem to be able to do that inches from dying, so here, have fun!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first published Blacklist work. I wrote this in one day without revising, so yeah, it might not be it's best, but I'm proud of it anyway.  
Also, this thing got me searching the distance between Washington and La Havre, average speed of stupidly expensive jets and what exactly was the difference between the plane Red has and Comercial planes, all for a line, so I'm probably going to have a breakdown before this story is done.  
Find me on tumblr @thefantasticsuperouatgirl ;-)  
Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! And remember, comments and Kudos make the world a better place. <3

Lizzie’s voice was uncertain over the phone:

“So, I couldn’t get anything out of Dembe, but wherever you are, one call can’t hurt. Thing is, I- I told Agnes about you, not all of it, and what I did tell her was pretty toned down, but she wants to meet you” there was a nervous chuckle “I’m pretty sure she fell in love with you the moment you smiled at her. Anyway, my invite for last night still stands. God knows I’m not the best cook in the world, but…you know, just… call me back when you hear this, ‘kay? Just to let me know, right…See you.”

The message ended and Katarina put down the phone:

“You’ve been busy.”

Reddington clenched his jaw. His muscles were sore, probably from being tied to a chair. The warehouse she’d brought him to was bad taste even for a torture session: The small windows at the top showed what was undoubtedly a dock, and the whole place smelled like a mix of rotten fish and motor oil. Katarina stood in front of him, red hair streaked with silver, and a designer jacket. She spoke again:

“My daughter. How is she?”

“You lost the right to know that when you killed yourself and moved to _Paris_” He spat the last word with as much disgust as he could.

“Yes, because you helped so much. You gave Sam money, paid him off to raise a child, and for the rest of time you were too busy building your reputation on a dead man’s name.” She said, taunting.

For all his qualities, he was a proud man, and Lizzie was important to him. So, despite recognizing the stench of bait, he took it anyway:

“I was. I built my life on a dead man’s name and a dead country’s money. I also saw her first recital, saw her win her first spelling bee and her seventh-grade science fair. I showed up at her high school graduation and made Sam record the one at Quantico. She was a valedictorian, she hated it, she was absolutely radiant at her wedding, and even more when she first held her daughter in her arms. And you don’t get any of it. And you never will. I won’t let you hurt her.”

Katarina smiled joylessly:

“You’re sick, you know that? You think you’re some kind of guardian angel for her. You think she actually wants you for anything else than answers. I might’ve not been there, but if I showed up at her doorstep right now, she would take me without question, can you say that about yourself?” She walked closer “I am going to get my daughter back, and you’re going to lose her. You’re going to lose everything. Stay away, _Reddington_.”

Reddington suddenly started to laugh. He couldn’t help it. this was too good:

“She knows” His trademark smirk came back, “She knows I was Ilya, she knows what we did with the money, and why we disappeared, she won’t welcome you. She hated you after she found out. _I_ changed her mind. You tell her you’re not dead and she’ll kill you herself.”

Finally, a proper response. Katarina’s eyes widened and she stepped back. He’d gotten inside her head. She left and took the phone. In came her two, well, he’d guessed henchmen, hired muscle. _Here we go, then. _

He thought about Katarina through it. It was a nice way to numb the physical pain, think about something more painful. He closed his eyes as ringed fingers cut a gash in his forehead and he felt blood trickle down his face. He focused: he had loved Katarina once. He’d been young and she’d been strong. And then, he’d been older, and she’d been dead. It seemed like the right thing to do, some way to honour her memory. But he’d left that behind years ago.

When he’d met Lizzie face to face, he’d been afraid. He’d been terrified that she was like her mother. But Lizzie was… she was his Lizzie. He didn’t mind not telling her about all of it. All the messy feelings that had made him stay, and change. She had to be safe, she had to be happy.

He thought about her laugh, her smile, her eyes. The way she hugged him, like she was falling off a cliff and he was the one thing keeping her alive. He thought about her hands, the way she pulled him to her, intertwining their fingers over whatever they were going through, the way she made all his fears melt away with that look of hers.

Then they left.

The sun was setting again. He hadn’t realized it was this late.

The small chips on the underside of his left armrest were a rookie mistake. He would be disappointed at Katarina if he wasn’t so pissed.

The duck-tape was slowly twisted until he managed to slide it out. He then freed his other arm and his feet.

His head spun when he got up and he had to lean on the chair, taking a deep breath.

Right, fish. He was in the docks, and the two men were guarding at least one of the entrances. He spotted a fire escape and headed to the roof.

Once outside, Reddington weaved through cargo containers, dearly missing his gun. He finally saw it: an old pick-up truck. He wrapped his hand in the remains of his shirt the best he could and grabbed a rock.

A few years living the good life will make you forget just how much noise it makes to steal a car. That moment made Reddington remember quite well, especially as a middle-aged man with a crowbar ran out of an auto shop near-by.

He got in and drove out of there as fast as he could.

It took him ten minutes to find a town and double the time to find a pay phone. As luck would have it, the owner of the car had forgot some change inside. He waited for the annoying bleeping to cease as he heard Dembe’s voice over the static.

“Who is this?” It was a burner phone, very few people had that number, in fact there were about three.

“Dembe.” His voice was raspier than he’d intended, he felt his neck, and something definitely had the wrong texture.

“Raymond?”

“I’m in Le Havre, and I need to not be here. Fast.”

“What happened to Paris?”

“My meeting was relocated without my consent, or consciousness. I need to get out of here, Dembe. Please.”

“I’ll take care of it, but the flight takes time, can you find someplace safe?”

“I’ll manage. And, Dembe?”

“Yes?”

“Not a word of this to Elizabeth.”

“Yes.” He sighed. 

Raymond Reddington was a resourceful man. In more ways than one. When a resourceful man ends up pretending to be homeless by the service entrance of a French airport for seven hours, there’s certain conclusions to be drawn about his situation.

Conclusion 1: Whatever Katarina was going to do next; it wasn’t good.

He’d gone to her out of…worry? Fear, perhaps. Or incredulity. He wanted to know for sure if the woman he’d cared for once upon a time was still alive. She wasn’t. Katarina Rostova had died that day in Cape May. He knew that now. Because Katarina Rostova would not do this to him. She would not drug and beat him. She would not taunt him about her own daughter’s safety.

That led him to the next few points.

Conclusion 2: Whoever this twisted creature was, she was dangerous, and she was completely unknown to him.

Conclusion 3: She was going to Lizzie, maybe she was already there.

He didn’t know if she wanted to talk to her and meet Agnes, to become part of their life, or to hurt them. He didn’t care. Whatever she wanted to do she wouldn’t manage to do it. Not if he had anything to do with it.

He realised one last thing. He was beaten, barely holding on to consciousness, and at least eight hours away from Lizzie. Katarina had a good ten hours of a head start on him, and he wasn’t that far from the docks, which meant there was a good chance her men would catchup to him, and he wasn’t sure if he could put up a fight for long. So

Conclusion 4: He was absolutely screwed.

In the middle of his misery, his probable concussion moved out of the realm of probability and into his general vicinity, slowly willing his eyes to close, slowly turning his reasoning into mush, and quickly lowering his chance of ever making it into that plane.

Reddington tried to get up and walk it off, tried to move at all, but every part of him told him that a small nap couldn’t hurt. He had time after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Liz grabbed another napkin from her purse and tried to wipe the strawberry-chocolate mess on Agnes’ face. They had gone out for lunch, and the restaurant just so happened to serve the best ice creams in the entire world -Agnes’ words, and frankly, who’s better at judging ice cream than kids- so they decided to get them and sit in a bench under some trees. Agnes finished her ice cream, and Liz wasn’t sure if she had eaten it, or simply let it melt into every available surface. The girl patiently pouted through Liz’s attempt at cleaning some of it and then decided to try and lure birds with bits of the cookie.

They almost got one, but it flew away at the last moment, and Agnes got bored of it, so Liz ended up pushing her on the swings on the playground.

Before she knew it, it was five o’clock.

“Come on, Agnes, we need to get home.”

“But, mommy, I’m not done yet, I wanna try the slide.”

“Fine, but only once, we need to get to Tracy’s party, okay? Don’t you want to help me pick a pretty bow for her present?”

That did it. She went up and down the slide with a small “whoo” before grabbing Liz’s hand and running towards the car.

Liz couldn’t help to laugh.

As she got inside the car, she saw she had a missed call from Dembe’s number and a text. She opened it and was looking at a photo of an airport runway.

“Come on, mommy, we need to get home.” Agnes crowed from the backseat.

Liz smiled and started the car.

Not long after, Agnes was in clean clothes and her new light up princess shoes (because Scottie insisted on a goodbye present), proudly holding a bag with the biggest purple holographic bow that Liz had seen in her life.

Tracy McCallan was Agnes’ “bestest friend in the whole world”. She had met her on the first day of day-care and they’d shared the green paint, which obviously meant that Tracy had good taste and they had to be friends forever. Apparently, the girl’s mother was a friend of Scottie’s, which made things a lot easier.

It was a slumber party, and Liz hadn’t been too happy about that, she’d waited so long to tuck Agnes in after a bedtime story, that another night seemed like a special kind of torture. But she then reminded herself, that she had all the time with her little girl now. One night couldn’t hurt.

Agnes kissed her goodbye and ran in. Anne McCallan, Tracy’s mom, was a very nice lady, and her invite for some coffee while no other kids arrived put Liz’s mind at ease about the whole situation. She ended up agreeing to take the girls to the Zoo the following weekend.

When she got back home, Liz considered staying in with some take out and a nice movie, but when she got her phone, she saw Dembe’s message again. There was no caption, just the picture, and she suddenly realised she recognised the place. She’d boarded Reds plane in that exact spot.

She dialed his number. Straight to voicemail. Damnit.

She grabbed her coat, heading for the door. She hesitated, could she be overreacting? Could this be something completely normal and she was simply blowing it out of proportion into…into what? She didn’t even know why she was worried, there was nothing in the picture that suggested something was wrong.

Liz put her coat back down and turned on the TV. She decided on ordering Pizza and then chose a romantic comedy, she needed something light to chase away that instinct that told her to be on her toes. Maybe she was nervous about Agnes. But there was no reason for it. After she talked to Scottie about the party, she’d got Aram to find out what she could about Anne and her husband, and he’d assured her Agnes would be perfectly safe.

Liz fell asleep in front of the TV.

And woke up again, a lot.

She kept being startled by this feeling, like the one you get when you’re sure you left your oven on, except times a hundred.

She finally gave up and got dressed. Checking the clock on the kitchen, she saw it was 5 A.M. She had four hours until she had to go pick up Agnes.

Liz grabbed her car keys and her badge. She circled back and picked up her gun as well. _Just in case. _She got in the car and drove to the damn airport on the picture.


	3. Chapter 3

Reddington vaguely remembered being shaken, he remembered being pulled to his feet and carried somewhere soft.

He opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling of his plane. A blond woman in a lab coat was waving a light in front of his face, he was sure he knew her, but her name was slipping away from him:

“Hello, Mr. Reddington.” She placed a gentle hand on his chest when he tried to get up. “No, don’t try to move, or speak too much. And be very careful about the way you breathe. I gave you a lot of pain medicine, don’t worry if things feel fuzzy”

She moved out of his field of vision and then Dembe was there:

“Raymond, what happened? You told me I didn’t need to go with you because it was safe.”

“She-” his throat didn’t seem to want to cooperate and Dembe extended him a glass of water decorated with a colourful straw.

He took a sip:

“Katarina. She’s different. She knocked me out, wanted to know about Lizzie. She’s coming.”

Dembe processed this:

“We’ll make sure they’re safe from her. Both of them. You need to rest, we’ll be landing in a bit, the rest of the team is waiting for us on the ground. We’ll fix this.”

Reddington took a deep breath and looked back at the ceiling.

“I don’t want to sleep. Tell me about what you’ve been doing.”

Dembe talked him through what felt like hours, and probably were: He talked about how he’d gotten back into the habit of praying regularly. How he’d taken Isabella and little Ellie on a trip to the coast, and how Isabella was the one who had convinced him to rethink his goodbye.

Reddington made a mental note to thank her profusely and listened to the tale of the day Elle learned to swim.

::::::::::

For the nth time in her life, Liz thanked god for how easy it was to get past people once you flashed them a federal badge. She got to the hangar in time to see the recently landed plane come to a stop. She headed towards it and the door opened. Out came Dembe and behind him two men carried a stretcher with…

She heard her car keys clatter as they fell to the floor despite not feeling them slip out of her fingers. Liz couldn’t move a muscle, they were frigid, and they trembled all at once. She ran to the man on the stretcher, wishing, begging, praying

But all the gods of history couldn’t help her, not when she looked at him: His usually pristine white shirt was ripped and blood red, he had bandages on his head and neck that were starting to get soaked through, and on his side she could see countless bruises in varying shades of yellow and purple.

Dembe nudged her out of the way and she looked at him:

“What hap- How- Who did this to him?”  
“He’ll talk to you, I promised I wouldn’t-”

“No! Not more of this, I can’t anymore. He’s beaten up to a pulp, barely able to move. Please, Dembe, who did this?”

The man looked back at her apologetically, but he didn’t speak.

She sighed and blinked back the tears:

“Fine, okay. Can I at least go with you two?”

“Of course.”

He guided her to a black van, Inconspicuous on the outside, equipped like an ambulance on the inside. She sat by the side of a now unconscious Reddington and held his hand. She remembered waking up with him doing the same once.

“Don’t you dare dying, you bastard.” She whispered, her lips brushing his hand. “Not now, not after… don’t you dare!”

She let the tears run free this time. She was so close to having everything, and now… she couldn’t lose it, she couldn’t lose _him._

::::::::::

Dembe looked at Elizabeth. She was sitting on the floor, holding Raymond’s hand between hers, silently sobbing. He grabbed a blanket and draped it over her shoulders, setting a reassuring hand there for a few seconds as well. He sat at the front and left Doctor Marcus on the back with the two. Elizabeth didn’t move for the whole way.

Before long they were at the medical site. He held her back when the doctors took Raymond inside.

She looked up at him.

“I know, Elizabeth, I know”

She buried her face in his chest. He felt like screaming. Katarina Rostova wasn’t going to get to Reddington again. _She isn’t going to get to any of them_, he thought as he placed his arms around Elizabeth.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, these are a bit more polished, I hope you enjoy it  
Thank you so much for all the kudos and comments, You guys are awesome <3

It was past nine thirty and nobody had said anything. Liz stood up and turned to leave.

“Elizabeth” Dembe called after her, “Where are you going?”

“I- I need to get Agnes, she spent the night at a friend’s birthday party. I can’t really show up like this.”

She waves at her general self: her clothes are wrinkled and stained with blood, his blood. Her eyes are puffy and she's shaking slightly.

She, Dembe decides, has a fair point.

So, now she was in the McCallan’s front porch after a shower and some clean clothes. Agnes skipped beside her, telling her how fun everything had been: from the movies they had seen to making cookies with Tracy’s mom, and her dad setting up a small telescope in the backyard.

“And then, Mary wanted to leave because she missed her parents, but we put on the little mermaid, her favourite movie, and then she didn’t want to leave anymore.” She said from her seat, while looking out the window.

“That was really nice of you. Really great idea.”

“And we got this!”

She grabbed a flowery paper bag and pulled out a small globe, it had glitter and a small plastic duck floating inside. Liz looked at it through the rear-view mirror and decided said duck wasn’t going to have a very long life in Agnes’ hands.

“What did you do, mommy?”

Liz involuntarily clenched her fists around the wheel. Her knuckles turned white. She regulated her breathing and looked at the road again, shrugging.

“I saw a movie. And I ate the vegetable pasta you don’t like.”

Agnes shuddered:

“Ugh, peas.”

Liz chuckled, relaxing a bit:

“So, after we get home, what do you want to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Should we make cookies?”

Agnes’ grin was so wide that Liz was sure her cheeks were hurting.

And so, not long after, they were… a mess. Agnes had a smudge of chocolate on her chin from stealing some of the batter, and Liz’s hair was more flour than brown. The cookie cutters were quickly discarded in favour of fun shapes that neither really knew what were supposed to represent. Liz placed them in the oven and dramatically set the timer.

She then had to chase Agnes around the living room and ended up carrying a giggling girl to the bathroom to get clean.

Liz’s mind drifted back to the previous night’s events as she glanced at the clock. She checked her phone: nothing.

“Mommy, why are you sad?”

Agnes’ voice startled her. She kneeled down and took a deep breath:

“I…”_ How the hell do you explain it to a kid_? “Remember that friend I told you about? Red?”

Agnes nodded.

“Well, he, um… he’s hurt, and…and I can’t do anything about it, and that makes me feel worried and sad.”

Agnes thought about it for a bit, and then:

“You should get him flowers.”

“What?”

“Peter said that when his granny was sick, his dads took him to visit her and they brought her so many flowers, and she said it made it better.”

That’s… That’s a great idea. Agnes, go get your coat, we’re going to a flower shop.”

::::::::::

Agnes held her hand, pulling her to a table covered in colourful tulips, and then to a garland of white roses by a “save the date” card. She looked up at the ferns hung from baskets in the ceiling and squealed.

“They should be red, right? To match?”

“They should.”

“How about roses?”

There was an unexplained skip in Liz’s heart, and she made a point to ignore it.

“Maybe something else, let’s see over there.”

They walked up to the counter with the perfect selection. Twelve red Dahlias were wrapped with fern leaves and golden paper. And as if the universe was approving her choice, her phone started ringing.

“Hello, Elizabeth. Are you alright?”

“Dembe, hi! Yeah, I’m… We’re buying flowers.”

There was a fond chuckle on the other side of the line, and then a short silence:

“He’s awake, but I did not tell you.”

“Duly noted. Hang on,” she glanced at Agnes, “Is it child friendly?”

“You can bring Agnes. All the blood is gone, and he looks healthy, if you forget the bandages.”

“Right. Alright then, I’m on my way.”

“I’ll send you the address. See you in a minute.”

“See you.”

Liz hung up. She turned around suddenly, feeling observed. Seeing nobody, she attributed it to a rough night and left the shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, the same way that roses mean love, Dahlias, specifically red Dahlias, mean "a strong and deep connection that cannot be broken.  
They are a lot lesss popular so chances are, Liz does not know this  
It seemed like a wonderful thing to me, and very representative of their relationship.  
what do you guys think?


	5. Chapter 5

He was back in his room at the safehouse. There were at least five bottles of pills by his bedside table and enough books to entertain him for two months. He wouldn’t need to rest for two months- good thing too, because he wasn’t sure if he could bear it – but he was already bored, and he’d only been awake for two hours.

There was a soft knock at the door. In came the one person that could make him smile as widely as he did. Lizzie whispered a tiny “hi” before her face was obscured by a brightly coloured balloon with “Get well soon” written in enormous yellow letters.

The girl holding said balloon seemed to be undecided between hiding behind Lizzie’s legs and peeking out to smile at him. Lizzie finally kneeled and nudged the girl towards him:

“Hi, Red, I’m Agnes.” She held out the balloon with a smile, “It’s for you.”

“Thank you. I love it very much.” He took the balloon and set the small weight tied at the end in his bedside table.

“We also got flowers. They’re red, like you.”

Lizzie got closer. She had a weird look in her eyes, like she was taking him in, making sure he was really there. She held on to the flowers when he held them, slowly caressing his hand and smiling:

“How are you?”

“A balloon, beautiful flowers and great company? I’m in heaven.”

She rolled her eyes at him with a chuckle.

“But I _am_ better now. Really.”

She squeezed his hand with a short nod. Red turned to Agnes; whose head was slightly tilted to the side:

“What is it?”

“You look funny.”

“I do? How so?”

“You look bored.”

Red chuckled:

“I am.”

“We should play a game.”

“That’s a very good idea, I’m sure I have a deck of cards in here somewhere.”

And that’s how they spent the rest of the morning: Lizzie sitting by the foot of the bed, with Agnes next to her, playing poker with cookies for money. It didn’t work very well, partly because they were all hungry and not in the mood to eave the room, and the cookies just happened to be really good, so they all ate most of their funds.

\----------

Time passed without Liz really acknowledging it. Before she knew it, Dembe was knocking on the door and walking in. They ended up ordering pizza and Liz was fairly certain that whatever place Red called, didn’t usually deliver. It was the closest thing she’d had to a lazy Sunday and seeing Agnes slowly balancing cards on top of each other with Red and Dembe’s help, smiling was the only reasonable reaction.

Red looked up at her then, and smiled back, eyes sparkling in the afternoon sun spilling through the windows. She still couldn’t believe he was there, alive, not quite okay but getting there.

For every minute without news, she’d imagine the worse. She’d seen his face rigid, the soft green in his eyes turned dull, his skin pale. It was rather bizarre. A few years ago, hell, a few months ago, even, she’d been more than glad to never see him again, now the mere thought of him not being there made her sick. 

Agnes needed a nap. Red had an extra room with incredibly soft pillows. After convincing her that no she wasn’t missing on anything, and yes, they would come back many times, she finally tucked Agnes in, and returned to the room. Dembe had left, and Red was shuffling the card deck.

\----------

Lizzie sat by him on the side of the bed:

“You know I have to ask.”

“I do not have the slightest idea of what you might be referring to.”

“Red, cut the crap.” She sighed and placed her hand on top of his. He stopped shuffling the cards and looked up at her. “Who did this to you?”

“No one that matters.”

“Come on, Red, I want to help you I can’t do that if you don’t tell me.”

He looked at her without a word.

She removed her hand. He immediately felt cold, a sense of loss over his wrist where her thumb had been rubbing small soothing circles.

“You’re a coward, did you know that?”

“Lizzie, I-”

“No, shut up. I…D-do you have any idea how much that hurts? After everything that’s happened, after all the crap we’ve been through, and you still don’t trust me! What is it with you and secrets?” She took a shaky breath, looking anywhere but at him and then staring him in the eyes with that intensity that was so much her own. This time mixed with such betrayal that he nearly flinched. “I watched you being carried out of that plane, half dead…I sat here for hours, not knowing what was happening…Do you have any idea- And you won’t even tell me who got to you!”

“Reddington, I want to help you, but I can’t do that if you won’t help _me_. How do you not trust me? I… What exactly am I to you? Why did you stay, huh? Because if you don’t care about me enough to let me help… Was it pity? Did you see the poor orphaned girl and decided to be the hero of my story?”

“If I tell you, they’ll come after you-”

“Let them!” Her voice was louder now, and she had small tears in the corner of her eyes. Red resisted the urge to wipe them. “Because if they don’t come after me, then I’ll go after them, I’ll find them, and I’ll kill them. I just need to know their name.”

The last sentence was barely over a whisper. Her voice trying to hold through angry sobs and the undoubtable wish to slap him in the face.

“No.”

A simple word. The word that ruined everything.

She got up and straightened her shoulders:

“Fine, then.”

Lizzie left the room. And Red had half a mind to throw something at a wall, but his...well, his everything hurt.

_It’s for her own good._ He tried to convince himself. There was a small part of him fighting it’s best to make sure that that was reason enough. The other (far larger and extremely more convincing) part was making the excellent point that anything that made Lizzie, _his_ Lizzie, look that hurt couldn’t possibly be good for _anyone_.

He laid his head back. He decided he’d rather be bored a thousand times over than be this hopelessly miserable.

Dead for thirty hears, alive for less than two days, Katarina Rostova had managed to spoil the one good thing in his life without even being in the room.


	6. Chapter 6

The metal doors opened in front of her and Liz stepped into the Post Office. It was more crowded than usual, and most of the people were strangers.

“Keen!” Someone tapped her on the shoulder.

“Ressler, hi. What- what’s happening here?”

“Mostly paperwork. Director Cooper is back in charge of the task force, but they still wanted to question us about McMahon’s death.”

“Right.” She’d almost forgotten about that.

“Enemy fire, nobody saw the shooter.” He whispered.

“Of course.”

Ressler nodded.

“And how’s Agnes?”

“Oh, she’s great. We watched a movie last night, and she knew half the lines by heart, an-”

“Elizabeth Keen?” A female voice. A British accent

She turned to be met with an unfamiliar face: brown eyes looking her over and then shifting to Ressler to do the same, thin lips and freckles, dark blond hair caught in a low bun, and a blue suit costing more than half of Liz’s wardrobe combined.

“Martha Wilson” she extended a hand that Liz shook, “I’ll be working with you on the task force for the near future.” She turned to Ressler “And Donald Ressler, I assume.”

“I-yes, pleasure.” Ressler shook her hand and Liz took the chance to look her over again. Apart from the nagging feeling that she knew the woman from _somewhere, _she wasn’t all that happy about a new teammate that was supposed to (regardless of what anyone would say) replace Samar. Martha turned around again in time for Aram to join them:

“Aram Mojtabai, it’s an honour, Director Cooper has told me a lot about you, I’m Martha Wilson, your new colleague.”

“Um- hi, that’s…uh, that’s great, welcome.”

The woman smiled wider and addressed all three of them:

“Now, I know my position formely belonged to Special Agent Samar Navabi, and though I truly regret her condition, I’m grateful to be working with such a renowned team. But don’t worry, I don’t intend to replace her in any way.” She finished with a fake chuckle and a faker smile and Liz decided she didn’t like this woman all that much.

There was no time to dwell on that, though, because a man in a blue jacket with “FBI” written in bright yellow letters led her to an interrogation room to collect her statement on Anna McMahon’s death and all the mess that had led to it.

She stuck to the truth, mostly. And when the man seemed satisfied with her answers, she got up and left the room, promptly making her way to Cooper’s office.

A soft “come in” was heard after she knocked, and she found Cooper at his desk signing the first of a pile of documents neatly stacked at his side.

“Keen, good morning.”

“Good morning, sir.” She meant to keep talking but thought better of it, ending up closing her mouth before the first word could completely escape.

“Keen, not that I don’t enjoy talking to you, but if it isn’t urgent, can we discuss it later? Over lunch, maybe? I’m a bit busy.” He gestured at the stack of papers.

“Right, of course.” She turned to leave, but stopped, her hand already on the knob. “Actually, it is urgent.” She took a seat across from him, “This Martha Wilson, how- where did you find her?”

“Ah,” he smiled as if he expected her suspicion, which annoyed her a bit, “She was recommended to me, and I figured that the timing couldn’t be better. She was British intelligence for seven years but decided to take a break and moved to D.C. with her fiancé two years ago. She did a number of remarkable things, and I thought she’d be a valuable member to the team."

“She knows a lot about us.” What she meant was _how much does she already know and how can I keep her from knowing more_ but that sounded a bit harsh.

He smirked:

“She knows what I told her. Your professional achievements and skills, she knows we have all worked together for a considerable amount of time and that we have a classified criminal informant that only I know the identity of.” 

Translation: _I bullshitted my way through her questions and didn’t tell her just how screwed up our lives are. Just act like a normal person around her and you should be fine._

Liz left the office a lot calmer than she had entered (but she still didn’t like her new colleague that much).

The team spent the rest of the morning introducing Martha to their way of work, and dodging questions about their secret informant. Liz wasn’t sure how they kept containing Reddington’s involvement with the Bureau after all the attention they’d been under, but it sure was useful.

Liz’s phone flashed the name “Nick’s Pizza” exactly four times, and each time she declined the call. Ressler caught her twice and made a face that asked_ what the hell happened?_ but she waved him off.


	7. Chapter 7

“So, is it also a tradition here to have the new girl pay for lunch?” Asked Martha, “Oh, nevermind tradition. I’m taking you to lunch.”

And that’s how they ended up going out to lunch.

Aram and Cooper took Martha in a car, and Ressler went with Liz in another one because they “needed to make a detour and pick something up”(they didn’t).

“So, you too, huh?” He asked her on the way to the restaurant.

“Me too, what, exactly?”

“Come on, you don’t find her the least bit annoying?”

“Kinda, yeah.” _Not so much annoying as suspected to try and stab us in the back at the first chance she gets, “_Maybe she’s an acquired taste.” 

“Hey, is everything okay?” Ressler’s voice softened, as if he was talking to a wounded animal.

“Yeah, sure, why?”

“ ‘don’t know, you seem…off.”

“Oh, It’s… Agnes.”

“Agnes? Why, is she okay?”

“yeah,” no “yeah, she’s fine” she might be a target to someone who beat the crap out of someone with too much self-preservation to ever get beat up. “I just” I’m scared that whatever Red got himself into will get to us, to her and I don’t want to lose her again, “It’s her first day of kindergarten after she came home and I’m a bit worried.” She smiled sheepishly while internally slapping herself. “I miss her.”

Ressler smiled and reassured her, and the conversation died out.

It wasn’t a lie. If it was up to Liz, she’d spend her every minute with Agnes, she had lost time to make up for, after all, but she hated using her daughter as an excuse, it’s just that if Ressler kept asking questions she’d end up telling everything that had happened over the weekend and then he’d tell Cooper and suddenly everyone would be in on it and something inside her told her that that was a very bad idea indeed.

Over lunch, she was quiet, but Ressler passed on her excuse and the conversation went on without her. To try and bring herself out of her growing spiral of paranoia, she tried to focus on the people around the table, one in particular.

Since a warm night in a nice restaurant a long time ago, Liz made a point to never profile anyone she worked with. Not consciously, anyway. But for the rest of the lunch, she forgot that little personal rule:

She couldn’t have known much about the task force that morning, but one thing everyone knew, it involved field work, Anyone expecting field work wouldn’t show up in five inch heels and a pencil skirt.

_She could be trying to make a good impressio_n, countered a small voice inside of Liz’s brain, a voice that was quickly silenced, because it wasn’t just the clothes was it? Martha didn’t smile right. Yes, her lips curled up in a way that was sure to make her cheeks hurt but it never reached her eyes. And her laugh sounded forced.

_Maybe she’s nervous. You were nervous on your first day. _Leaving aside the fact that Martha didn’t exactly have an international criminal treating her like he knew more about her life and proving it, Liz had to agree with the little voice this time.

She could be nervous. Not _could, _was. It was the only way to explain the stiffness of her shoulders, the clearing of her throat, or the way she kept stopping herself from fidgeting. Liz could excuse nervousness, but what was Martha nervous of?

There was also the thing about her stories. She was currently in the middle of telling how she and her fiancé had met and there was an outrageous amount of detail. She had actually began by describing a holiday trip that had reminded her of something in her last job (she had worked in private security for a few months) which reminded her of how the poor spouse to be had proposed, leading to the tale of their first meeting. And it’s not that the stories were boring, quite the opposite, Martha Wilson seemed to have the most exciting life in history.

_And you’ve never met someone who did the exact same thing, of course not!_

  
_That’s different._

_No, it isn’t._

_Maybe it isn’t but if we go there, Red isn’t the most truthful person either. Half those stories might’ve been lies!_

_You’re making excuses._

She was. Her gut told her that there was something wrong, and in order to not think about what it could be (from an international terrorist to a shadow government with a grudge on Reddington), she had projected all her problems onto the new kid on the block. That wasn’t all that fair of her was it?

Martha stopped her outside the restaurant.

“Hey, so, I heard about your daughter. It’s perfectly normal, you know? Back in London, I lived with my brother, and he was a single parent, so I helped out. The first time I had to send little Anthony to school, I almost cried the entire day, and so did he.” She smiled, and Liz noted that her eyes actually crinkled, “It just means you’re a good mother.”  
Alright, definitely not fair. Maybe Martha deserved a chance to prove herself.

And she did. Even with all the insistent questions about the informant to which Liz began to answer with a sigh, Martha was surprisingly quick to pick up on how the team worked and how to fit in.

So, when Liz walked into Agnes’ room at the Sunny Hills Day Care Center she was in a good mood. That is, until Miss Prescott pulled her aside while Agnes put away her toys:  
“Someone came to pick Agnes up earlier today.”  
“What? Who?”

“I don’t know. She told us she was her grandmother, but she wouldn’t give us her name. And as you only allowed Mrs. Hargreaves to pick up Agnes, we sent the woman away.”  
“Alright. Good. What did she look like?”

“She was wearing a scarf over her head and sunglasses, but she had a strange accent, and she was thin and… Well, I can’t really tell you much more, I’m sorry, Mrs. Keen.”

“It’s alright, that helps. The important is that Agnes was safe. If this woman shows up again, I need you to call me as soon as possible, alright?

The woman nodded.

“Okay then.”

“Hi, mommy.”

Liz knelled down and Agnes hugged her.

“Hi sweetie. Let’s go?”

“M-hm. Bye, Miss Prescott.”

“See you tomorrow, Agnes.”

The woman smiled and then looked worriedly at Liz after Agnes had already turned and started skipping, pulling her mother with her.

“I learned how to make a flower just by folding paper today, d’you know, mommy? It looked really pretty.”

“Really? Well, now you’re going to have to teach me too.”

Agnes grinned and started telling Liz how there was a new boy in class, and what lunch had been.

Even through the girl's enthusiasm, Liz couldn’t help to grip her hand a little tighter.


	8. Chapter 8

“Okay, now, sprinkle it. All around, like glitter.”

Agnes slowly dropped the small green leaves into the bubbling pot of (delicious smelling) sauce, her feet dangling from the counter, and her mother’s arm around her just in case.

“There, done.” She clapped her hands, “glitter sauce.”

“A delicious creation by a talented chef.” Liz bowed a little, “Now, let’s get you down from there.”

“No, I want to see.” She crossed her arms, pouting.

“You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“See that?” Liz pointed at the sauce.

“It’s bubbling.”

“Exactly, and bubbling means it’s hot, and when you touch something hot, you get hurt, yes or no?”

“Yes.”

“So?”

“Fine.”

Liz placed her back on the floor. From the living room came the sound of the TV, and Agnes squealed:

“Duck tales!”

“A-a-a, where do you think you’re going, young lady?” She pointed at the sink, “hands, please.”

“But-”

“The song is still on, come on.”

Agnes did as told and then ran to the couch as Liz finished up dinner. As she did, she couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was connected. Red was ambushed and two days later someone tried to take Agnes? It was a more likely coincidence that she was struck by lightning and won the lottery in the same day.

She didn’t want to send Agnes away again. It had killed her a thousand times over to not raise her for so long. To not even see her. She had tried so hard to fix her life so she could get her little girl back. Just the thought of losing her again…

There was a knock on the door.

Liz turned off the stove and went to answer it. On the hall stood none other than Raymond Reddington. Less bandaged and leaning against the doorjamb, breathing slowly.

She moved to close the door again.

“I’m sorry.” He breathed. Barely over a whisper. It had the same effect as if he shouted.

Liz stopped, slowly opening the door again. She payed closer attention to the man in front of her. He had an arm over his stomach, grabbing his side, she realised that leaning was probably the only way he had of standing up without being in pain.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

He shook his head:

“You wouldn’t answer my calls, and I need-”

“What I mean is, you shouldn’t even be standing, let alone walking around. Your doctor was pretty insistent on that part.”

“Morphine exists for a reason, you know?” He chuckled, not something comfortable to do given the following wince.

“Jesus, Red. Come in.”

He looked surprised at that. Like it wasn’t her first instinct when she saw him. Like she didn’t internally yell at herself when she was sending him away. Like she wanted anything else than to always have him there.

“Don’t look at me like that, if you’re going to bleed out, do it in my couch and not the hallway, that tends to raise questions.”  
He smiled and it shouldn’t have made her feel that good, but she led him to the kitchen, quickly checking on Agnes, who had resorted to laying on the carpet, head propped up in her hands, completely hypnotised by the TV. He leaned back on the counter:

“Lizzie, we need to talk, I need to know you’re safe-”

“They came for Agnes today.”

“What. Is she alright? How di-”

“She’s fine, whoever it was, they didn’t get to her. The point is._ I’m already not safe_. Neither of us is. The only thing you accomplish with this lie is leaving me completely unprepared to protect my daughter and myself.”

He stayed silent for a moment:

“Alright. I’ll tell you what I know, which at this point isn’t much more than you. But later.” He glanced at Agnes in the living room. “At least _she_ should be kept in the bliss of ignorance. And you can’t tell anyone else. I don’t want the FBI getting involved.”  
“Deal.” She nodded. “Now grab a plate.”

“What?”

“Dinner’s ready, it’s pasta Bolognese. Agnes helped.”

\----------

Red couldn’t keep the smile off his face as Lizzie helped Agnes onto her seat. The girl immediately bombarded him with all kinds of questions, and well, he couldn’t leave her wondering, could he?

At one point, she took a small origami flower from her pocket and handed it to him.

“You said the other ones made you feel better. This one’s not real, but it can work.”

“Thank you, Agnes, it already has.”

He looked up and caught Lizzie looking at him. She turned quickly and busied herself with bringing the food to the table. The smile that had shown up earlier decided to take permanent residence on his lips.

Agnes looked at him seconds after he took the first bite.

“So?”

“It’s delicious.”

“Yes!” She punched the air.

The talk moved from the food to Agnes’ day and Lizzie’s new co-worker. They talked about how Agnes’ class was planning on a field trip to the zoo, and he ended up telling the story of a safari he had once gone on (he conveniently left out the part about the big game hunter that had organised it, and what Red had done to him and his remains when he found out, but he was fairly certain that Lizzie recognised the story).

Lizzie then decided to tell Agnes about the first time Sam had taken her to a Zoo, one of her favourite memories with him. Red felt a tightness in his chest: she had lost him, and so many others, and he had lost countless people as well, and for what? This mess was going to get to them faster and faster if they didn’t do anything about it.

Red briefly reconsidered telling her. But even as she was lost in reminiscence, telling her childhood adventures to her bright-eyed, smiling daughter, worry hovered around her. It had for some time. The stiffness in her shoulders. The jumpiness of her movements every now and then. Constantly looking over her shoulder for someone out to hurt her.

He blamed himself, really. He had brought her into his world, and it had done more harm than good, no matter what she said.

Yet, here she stood, mighty and persevering. He had to tell her. Maybe together they had a better chance at safety. 

After dinner, he had to insist that she let him clean up while she helped Agnes brush her teeth.

She came back absolutely soaked.

“What on earth happened in there?” He mocked.

“Don’t” she pointed an accusing finger at him, “Agnes decided to be funny and play with the faucet.”

“You need to shower.”

“No, I need to finish up here.”

“Finish what?” He shrugged with a smile. Gesturing to the clean table.

“You’re supposed to be recovering.”

“Oh, please, I had worse. In fact, one time in Morocco, I walked into this tea salon, and-”

“Mommy, I’m ready, come tell me a bed-time story.” Agnes yelled from her bedroom door.

“Okay honey, I’m coming.”

“Why don’t I do that? You go and take a relaxing bath, and I’ll take care of the story telling.” He turned to Agnes, “Is that okay with you?”

The girl nodded enthusiastically.

“Red, you-”

He arched an eyebrow:

“I’m sorry, are you doubting my story-telling skills?”

“Of course not.” She sighed

“Good, now go.” He nudged her towards the bathroom and went to check Agnes’ books, which he found frankly dull.


	9. Chapter 9

Liz stood in the doorway to Agnes’ room, still towelling her hair. She managed to catch something of a “lived happily ever after” as Agnes drifted off to sleep and Red pulled up the covers and turned off the bedside lamp, leaving the room in near darkness, the only light source a small butterfly-shaped night light.

He smiled up at her:

“See, sound asleep.”

“No book?”

“Oh, they were boring.”

“Is it bad that I’m actually scared of which one of your stories you told her?”

“The lack of trust, Elizabeth. I am wounded!” He brought a hand to his chest dramatically. “I simply told the tale of a brave little girl who was once in a tower, and decided she was done waiting for a prince, so she slayed the dragon herself and reconquered her kingdom, becoming the most loved queen among all her subjects.”

“Wow. Was the girl’s name Agnes?”

“Of course not, your daughter’s not a baby, the first thing she told me was “If she’s me, I’ll stop listening.”. No, her name was Lizzie.” He smiled.

“I…Thank you. For the story, and the cleaning, and all that.”

“Of course, it takes a village after all.”  


They sat on the couch.

“Do you want a drink, or something like that?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Alright, then. Shoot. Who the hell is causing all of this?”

“Straight to the point, then. Okay.” He took a deep breath and looked at the sofa cushion, then at the window, and at the coffee table. Anywhere that wasn’t Liz. He finally settled on the carpet and got it over with:

“It’s your mother.”

“What?” There was a knot in her throat, and all her blood decided to be somewhere else than her face.

“I found out that Katarina might be alive, hidden away.” He still wasn’t looking at her, “I found her in Paris, but she ambushed me, and…well, you’ve seen the result.” She found herself thankful he wasn’t looking her in the eyes, this was bad enough as it was “I think she’s here. And I think she was the one who tried to take Agnes.”

She stayed silent. After a few moments he looked up at her, waiting. She got up.

“Lizzie? Where are you going.”

“I…need a drink.”

She didn’t usually keep alcohol at home. But there was a bottle of scotch in the top shelf of the spice cabinet that she had planned on giving to someone, and eventually that someone had either died, turned out to be a traitor, or lost her phone number. She wasn’t really sure anymore. And right now, she didn’t really care. She poured a glass and let the burning sensation wash over her.

Her mother.

Katarina Rostova. The legendary soviet spy. The woman who had committed suicide on Cape May. But hadn’t.

Liz didn’t really know how to feel. She had never had a mother. Sam was the most supportive parent anyone could’ve had, and even when he wasn’t, he did his best. But as a little girl, Liz had always wondered what it would be like to have a mother. And now… Now what?

Now, the woman who was supposed to be her mother had hurt, or tried to hurt, the two most important people in her life.

Liz thought about Red: unconscious and hurt, tortured for hours. She thought about Agnes: her little girl almost taken away from her. Left with a stranger, to suffer god knows what. “Her grandmother” the woman had said. No. Not even close.

Liz sat back down and downed the rest of the glass:

“How do we stop her?”

Red looked at her as if she was very fragile. Volatile. As if the wrong word would set her off to do something incredibly stupid like screaming out for Katarina in the middle of the street (she had half a mind to do that, actually).

“I don’t know. I haven’t found anything on her. She’s very good at hiding in plain sight. But if there’s something, I’m sure we can find her.”

“Agnes was an impulse choice.” She mumbled; the thought still not quite cooked.

“How so?”

“She… she introduced herself as her grandmother.” That’s what had been nagging her. “Maybe she hoped that would get her permission, but I don’t think she thought it through. I think it was new information, and she acted on it as fast as she could.”

“It could be. But that means she’s knows you. It means she has someone close to you already in place. Or…”

“Or?”

“Or that she hurt someone for that information.”

“Ressler. Oh my god. He was looking into her.”

“It wasn’t Donald.”

“How can you know?”

“That man would die before giving you or Agnes away. Besides, Katarina’s techniques are anything but subtle. If she’d hurt him, you’d know it.”

She straightened up and picked up a notepad from the coffee table:

“Tell me about her.”

He looked at her, then down at the pad, then up again:

“You want to profile her.”

“There’s no file about her. Not a useful one, anyway. And as far as I know, you’re the only living person who actually knows her.”

“Not the only one.”

“Dom doesn’t know her. He loves her. There’s a difference. To him, she’ll always be his little girl. He’d ignore all the things she did for another look at her.”

“She’s not the woman I knew.”

“You’re our best chance.”

“Alright.” He sighed, “Where do I even start?”

\----------

He started right at the very beginning, at the two kids who pledged their lives to each other. He continued until Liz wished her mother hadn’t given her up and then until she was glad that she had.

Liz filled three pages with questions and notes to peel some layers of Katarina Rostova and ended up too close to square one in the end. They tried to find any possible connections between anyone in their lives and Katarina. Anyone who had suddenly disappeared, anyone acting differently, anyone too close or not close enough. They briefly bounced on the idea that Dom might be helping his daughter out of some misguided sense of duty, maybe he wanted his family together again. They discarded it less than a minute later. (Liz was sure that Red would look into it anyway). Slowly, the night drifted between questions and theories. Between calls to old associates and older files. Until they too drifted away into a restless sleep, too tired for dreams, to worried for peace.


	10. Chapter 10

Liz woke up when Agnes climbed on top of her.

“Hi, mommy. I love you.”

She hugged her and Liz was properly awake. She smiled at the usual greeting and hugged her back. And then she realized where she was.

She was still on the couch, her knees folded under her. Her head had been resting against someone’s chest. The same someone who had an arm around her. She looked up. Red smiled down at her and yawned. Then he seemed to register his surroundings and a brief look of panic passed over his features. He tried to remove his arm from around her, only to find out that Agnes had trapped it in place when she hugged her mother. The girl in question let go and tilted her head at him:

“Hi Red!”

“Good morning, Agnes.”

Liz got up and stretched. Then she looked at her watch.

“Crap! We’re late.”

She turned around and was about to tell Agnes she needed to get dressed when she saw the girl already set. Granted, she was wearing a pink tutu and a glittery mermaid shirt over bright green pants and rain boots, but she was dressed, and Liz was proud.

“Honey, how long have you been up?”

“I dunno, a while.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up earlier?”

“You looked cute. But then I got bored.”

Liz sighed and definitely _did not blush_:

“Alright, we need to get dressed.”

“I _am_ dressed.”

“I know, sweetie, but… um, that’s too fancy for school.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, that’s secret tea party material. School’s too normal for that.”

“Hmm. Alright.”

Liz suddenly stopped. She turned to Red:

“I…”

“I’ll get started on breakfast. But first, I’ll need to use your bathroom, and some mouthwash.”

“Right, yeah, sure.”

\----------

When she returned to the kitchen, she found Red by the stove, and _oh no!_

“Pancakes?!”

“Oh, hi, well, you had the ingredients.” He shrugged.

“Red, we don’t have time for pancakes!” She cried

“Pancakes? Cool!” Agnes sat at the table and was served the first pile of mini- pancakes and a glass of orange juice.

“Come on,” he nudged Liz to her chair, “They won’t eat themselves.”

“But I’m late. We’re all late.”

“Lizzie,” he sat down and piled some pancakes onto their plates, “It’s almost ten o’clock, you were late before you even woke up, and I’m sure nobody will fire you for sleeping in once in your life.” She opened her mouth to counter, but he kept going, “As for Agnes, she’s in kindergarten, not the military. Now, pass the syrup, would you?”

She did. And it was a very pleasant meal. And she still felt guilty. She was also incredibly embarrassed about the way she had fallen asleep on top of him. That was until she remembered he was still hurt. Then she went on to be absolutely mortified.

After breakfast, they left Red with a spare key (which meant _nothing_ other than the fact she needed him to lock up after he left), and Liz walked into Sunny Hills to find a man and a woman who introduced themselves as their new nurse and security detail, respectively.

“Good morning, Elizabeth, I’m Genevieve Mitchell. I’m the new head of security.” The woman held out her hand for Liz to shake. Then she leaned in. “I have been in Mr. Reddington’s employment for some time, I can assure you your daughter will be safe.”

“Thank you.” Liz mentally scolded herself for her surprise, she should’ve expected this, really. “When did he call you in exactly?”

“Last night, around…ten?” She turned to the man behind her for confirmation

“Ten, yes, give or take. He made sure to keep the administration in his good graces in case he needed to hire someone quickly.”

“Ah.” _Of course he did._ “Alright, then, I guess I’ll have to trust you, Mr…”

“Rodrigo Nicholson, Mr. Reddington warned us you might want to look into us. You have our word, for what it’s worth, you can trust us.”

“I trust that he trusts you.”

“I trust that he trust you.” Agnes mimicked, and Liz had to try her best to keep the smile off her face. She knelt down to Agnes’ eye level:

“Alright sweetie, I need you to promise something. If you see anything weird, or feel bad in any way, you get Miss. Prescott and you call me, okay?”

“Mm-hm.” She nodded.

As Agnes walked away trailed by the new hires. Genevieve’s coat rid up a bit and Liz caught the glimpse of a gun. She wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or worse.


	11. Chapter 11

The fact that Liz was taking care of paperwork in the morning was a sign that things weren’t going well. The extra agents had finally started to move out, but the Post Office was still too crowded, so she’d simply slid behind her desk and kept quiet.

“Hey, Liz, are you okay?”

She looked up at a worried Aram, his face undecided between a frown and a kind smile.

“Yeah, sure, why?”

“Because you were late, like, really late.”

“Oh, that. It’s just,” _it’s just that I spent half the evening trying to profile my dead-but-not-really-dead-after-all mother and then fell asleep on top of the guy whose face is on our top most wanted_! “My alarm clock! It, uh… it didn’t ring.”

That wasn’t actually a lie. As far as Liz was concerned, the digital alarm clock on her bedside table had been quiet all morning (the fact that she was nowhere near enough to actually hear it was a completely different story)

“So, did I miss anything?”

She followed him to his desk as he told him the official statement to be issued by the Bureau on McMahon’s death, and how it was all over. Shortly after, Martha joined them:

“Hey, guys. So, Liz, what happened to you, hot date?” She nudged her and winked exaggeratedly, which should’ve been fine but for some reason made her extremely annoyed:

“Alarm clock didn’t work” she answered dryly

“Right.” Martha straightened up, the buddying familiarity running from her features, and Liz felt slightly guilty. “So, what are we doing today, then?”  


Ressler, who had come into the conversation just in time to hear her question, seemed to be trying to come up with an answer, but he was doing about as well as the other two.

“Well, isn’t this a cheerful place!” Said a voice from behind them.

_Shit! w_as Liz’s knee-jerk reaction.

Reddington set his hat on her desk:

“Good morning, Lizzie.” He smiled, and turned to the team, “What, I help save the country and this is the welcome I get? Unbelievable. This is why nobody likes the authorities.”

“Holy shit! Your C.I. is_ him_?”

“Oh my God! Raymond Reddington is here, somebody arrest him.” Said Aram meekly

“Don’t. Don’t insult me.”

“Meh. Worth a try.” He shrugged, leaving with Ressler.

“Miss Wilson, Raymond Reddington. A pleasure. I’m sure you’ll be a tremendous help to the team.” He bowed his head to her and Liz’s eyes rolled completely of their own accord.

She cleared her throat:

“Why are you here, Reddington?”

“Sebastian Murray.”

“And that is?”

“Why, he’s the next name on the blacklist.”

\----------

Sebastian Murray was a drug dealer who decided to branch out and deal people as well. He operated mostly in the States, though Europe was growing on him. He had evaded capture for so long because he didn’t technically exist.

According to Reddington, he had friends, nay, clients, in high places, and they were more than happy to sweep him under the rug whenever someone got too close. The kick? If they actually caught him with hard evidence, all the friends in the world wouldn’t be worth a penny, and he’d be cut loose.

Liz looked back at the files.

“Something’s off.”

“Why? We have everything we need; I’d say it’s rather straightforward.” shrugged Martha.

“Say that again.”

“What? It’s rather straightforward?”

“That’s it!”

She ran up to Cooper’s office, to where Reddington had slipped once he gave them what they needed, and barged in:

“You’re cheating!”

“Lizzie, my dear, I don’t recall discussing exclusivity.”

She decided to let that one slide, this was more important:

“You gave us everything. You _never_ give us everything.”

“Maybe I’m being helpful. You should trust me by now.”

She got closer (which was a really bad call in any and every way possible):

“I don’t need to trust you. I _know_ you. All your little tricks. What are you doing?”

She was extremely aware of how he chewed his cheek, his lips upturned in the slightest smirk, and of the way his eyes shifted from hers to somewhere lower on her face, where her lips parted without her noticing.

He leaned back in his chair and smirked properly this time, in the way he did when he was convinced he had outsmarted everyone in the room (the fact that he often had had nothing to do with the matter):

“I’m helping you. The fact is that you have a new co-worker. It would be very suspicious indeed if the one thing this task force was assembled for didn’t happen.”

“He has a point.” said Cooper, his hands crossed on the desk. “Martha may be new to the team, but she’s no stranger to bureaucracy, if she thinks something’s not working the way it should, we could get a new supervisor. I’d rather not.”

“Fine, that’s… Okay, that’s kind of a good idea, actually.”

Reddington smiled and got up. She followed him out the office:

“So, how did you like my security detail?” He threw over his shoulder.

“They’re…interesting. She’s scary.”

“Good.”

“And, the guy, he’s really a nurse?”

“He’s a doctor, actually. Found him in Cuba a few years ago. Saved my life. You see, there was this pineapple farm just outside of Varadero, and- ”

She slipped her hand in his, and the rest of the sentence died out. He stopped walking but didn’t turn around.

“Thank you, Red.” She squeezed his hand reassuringly.

“Always.” He said and walked away.

Liz went down the stairs just in time for Aram to happily announce that Murray’s new ID had been picked up in a flight from Dallas, and left for what would in fact be, a fairly straightforward arrest.

The surprise came after.

Mid interrogation, Murray confessed. He just didn’t confess what they were expecting.

“I swear, the chick asked me. She payed me to get her here unnoticed.”

“A woman payed you to be thrown into a cargo container across the Atlantic. Please.” Ressler’s foot found the chain under the table, and with a swift pull, the man’s arms were slammed into the table, pulling him almost off his chair, “You think this is a joke?”

“Look, I’m telling you the truth. Some Frenchy walks up to me, puts a gun against my head, and tells me she’ll make me rich if I get her to Washington. She knew what she was doing.”  
Something clicked in Liz’s head. _That devious bastard!_

She considered walking into the room, but decided to take out her phone and text Ressler instead.

He read the message with a frown, but luckily he humored her.

“What did she look like?” he sighed

“What?”

“This woman. What did she look like?”

“I don’t know. She was in her late fifties, sixties, maybe. Red hair, kinda. Blue eyes.”

_Bingo._


	12. Chapter 12

Liz headed for her office and closed the door, dialing his number. When he picked up, she could hear jazz music in the background:

“Hello, Lizzie. How was work?”

“You knew.”

“Excuse me?”

Despite being alone, Liz found herself lowering her voice:

“Murray brought my mother here. But you already knew.”

“I suspected. There were some options, we got lucky.”

“He doesn’t know how to contact her, though. She approached him, not the other way around.”

“ I doubt his services stopped at a boat ride. And Lizzie, lake a good look at the man. He may be despicable, but he’s still a business man.”

“He keeps a record.”

“Exactly.”

“We can interrogate him for it, and there are people on every property he owns, but… no, she wouldn’t be that careless. She'd ask to be kept out of it. So, whatever he does know, he’s the only one who knows. And since we can’t tell the team about why you wanted him in the first place… You want five minutes with him, don’t you?”

“Lizzie, please, you think that low of me? I can get what I want out of him in three.”

“I can’t.”

“This is not the time to play nice Lizzie-”

“No, Red, I mean it’s not possible. We can keep him here for a while longer, but then we either let him go, or he’s taken to prison, depending on whether or not we find the records. You can’t interrogate him here. And I won’t let you break him out.”

“Meet me halfway, then.”

It dawned on her:

“The transport.”

“That’s my girl.”

She could hear his smile on the other side. And when she told Ressler about the records, he didn’t take long to get it out of the guy.

He might have powerful friends and every security team money could buy, but by himself the dude was downright pathetic.

\----------

Sebastian Murray was pushed against the floor of the van. Dembe sat on the embedded bench, his foot rested atop his back, and his gun was aimed at his neck.

Raymond sat across from him, legs crossed, his fedora on top of his right knee, and the kind of fury ridden smile that made you want to crawl into a hole and kill yourself before he had the chance to do it himself.

Or maybe the gun did that.

Either way, Murray’s resolve to not say a word was dissolving, and it faded away completely when Dembe leaned forward and he felt the cold steel of the gun on the back of his head.

“Here’s the thing, Sebastian. If this van goes any further, you’ll be formally charged. Now, assuming you ever get to trial, you will be convicted, and from then, you have , let's see, a week, before they find you tragically dead in your cell, with the cameras pointed elsewhere. Maybe two weeks, if you’re lucky.” He leaned forward, “Are you feeling lucky?”

“What do you want.”

“A beach house in the Bahamas with an unending reserve of cocktails and an outstanding lack of clothes. But right now, I’ll settle for everything you have on the woman who payed you to get here.”

\----------

Elizabeth opened the door with Agnes clinging to her leg. The girl was in the process of begging her not to make soup because “don’t you love me, mommy?”

The pending threat was that Agnes would look silly and she really was going to open the door, was she sure about this?

She was, as it turns out. But quickly left the cursed pea soup drama when she saw who was at the door.

“Dembe! Hi!” She ran to him and through some quick movements (of which he was proud of) he managed to pick her up without dropping the packages he was holding.

Elizabeth took the packages from him and waved him in.

“Nice tux. So, what is he up to now?” she nodded to the boxes.

“A celebration. He has a new lead.”

“A lead, for what?” Agnes looked up at him, “Are we playing detectives?”

“Maybe later.” He smiled, “Now we’re playing princesses.” He nodded at the boxes and set Agnes next to them on the kitchen counter.

The girl pulled the ribbon off the first one and lifted the lid to reveal a heap of light blue fabric with small crystals sewn in.

Agnes looked at her dress, fascinated.

“I take it it’s a black collar event?”

“The bottom one is yours.” Dembe smiled.

“Of course.”

“Mommy, I love it. Can we go, please, please, pleaseeee!”

“Sure, honey. Come on, I’ll help you.” She helped the girl to the floor, “Dembe, we won’t be long. Eat something, have a drink. Make yourself at home.”  
There were mini pretzels in a small bowl by the stove, and the TV was on. He meant to change the channel, but there was never any harm in watching Monsters Inc. He waited for the girls to get ready and thought about his time away.

He had returned because of Isabella, but it hadn’t taken much convincing. She had left him alone about it for most of their time together, but in the last day, before he even told her all the details, she had asked “what if it was me? What if I left you forever, no explanation other than ‘I won’t give you any chance to clean up whatever mess you made’? What, then?”

He had no problems with most of Raymond’s secrets. Or Elizabeth’s. There were, since he last counted, five people in the world that he truly cared about. The last two additions were currently getting changed into ridiculously expensive dresses, and had been an absolute surprise. So, no, he had no problem keeping most of Elizabeth’s secrets the same way he kept Raymond’s.

But everyone had a limit.

And Dembe’s was watching two people who cared about each other tear each other apart over those damn secrets, and endangering an innocent child in the process.

So, he’d walked away.

And then he realised that his limit was not only his own. And that maybe, just maybe, two idiots hellbent on destroying each other instead of learning to trust might just need a little nudge in the right direction.

Which is why, after Elizabeth left the safehouse with tear-stained cheeks and a sleeping child in her arms, he had walked up to Raymond’s room and given him an ultimatum.

_There are no secrets among family._

He didn’t expect him to get up and personally go to Elizabeth’s house, or that he stayed all night and somehow managed to fix things with pancakes, but what works, works.

Just as the screen changed to the credits, Agnes ran into the living room:

“Look, Dembe, I’m Cinderella.” She twirled in the dress and Dembe chuckled.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I am late, yes BUT its only because I got a new job and yesterday was my first day so thats kind of an excuse  
Also, a little warning for these next two chapters:  
Are they soppy? yes. Did I have way too much fun with corny metaphors and too fluffy descriptions? also yes. Am I sorry? Aw hell no!  
Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as Im enjoying writing it, and for everyone leaving kudos and comments, you guys are my whole world <3

Liz’s heels echoed in the empty hall. Dembe led them to a set of dark wooden doors, where two guards stood, looking like they’d rather be doing anything else. They looked at the three of them and were about to (maybe not so) gently ask them to leave when Dembe said they were with Reddington.

The men looked at each other and let them through, giving Liz the distinct impression that they didn’t like doing it that much.

The room was enormous. And too crowded. In the center, several people were dancing to the sound of a string quartet that sat in a small stage in a corner. On the far wall, facing a wall that was more glass than stone, was a bar, and all around the room were small sofas and tables, where well-dressed people talked, drank, or played cards. From one of those gatherings she heard the unmistakable sound of an extravagant story being told:

“I’m telling you, to this day the very _smell _of peppermint tea makes my shoulder crackle and my stomach turn.”

It was followed by a chorus of laughs that she followed until she saw him.

Red wasn’t enjoying his success, he was looking right back at her, a bright smile on his face. He raised his glass at her and finished his scotch before crossing the room. His eyes roamed over her and she could swear the smile changed into something different, bolder. If it did, it changed back in a second, leaving her to wonder if her brain was playing tricks on her.

\----------

He’d been watching Lizzie since the doors opened. It was always the same, no matter how many times they had gone to places like this. Undercover or not she had a routine:

First, her years of training took over. She scanned the room, the general layout, the possible exit strategies, anyone looking out of place or acting suspiciously. Not all that different from what he did when he entered a room, though he usually had different reasons.

The she saw him, and the tension of planning the worst-case scenario dissolved. There was the slightest flicker of relief on her features. She relaxed, and she was breath-taking. This time, that small fact was aided by her dress. The dark red fabric flowed down in small waves, part of the lace top obscured by her hair, and on her neck glowed a small necklace of red roses in silver vines.

He couldn’t help the small gasp that left his lips, and that brought the next step of her routine.

He could never not react to her, his eyes roamed over her and for a few seconds she looked almost embarrassed, a rather silly reaction, he thought, if only she saw herself through his eyes, there was nothing to embarrassed _of._

But the embarrassment quickly gave way to something else. A posture of confidence and a look in her eyes that shouted _I feel good like this and there’s nobody in the world who can do anything about it!_

He loved that look.

“Lizzie, you look positively radiant.” He couldn’t help the wide smile on his lips. With her, he never could. He turned to Agnes, “I’m sorry, your highness, I have not introduced myself” He bowed slightly “Raymond Reddington, an absolute honour.”

The girl giggled:

“Red, it’s me, Agnes.”

“My, my! You look right out of a fairy-tale, my dear. Well, you know what princesses do at a ball, no?”

“What?”

He extended his hand:

“They must have the first dance, of course.”

“I can’t dance that.” She pouted slightly. Red found it endearing.

“That’s the waltz. I can teach you, come on.”

The girl took his hand and followed him to the centre of the room

“Alright, now put your feet on top of mine, there you go.”

“Now what?”

“Now we dance.”

\----------

Liz chuckled at the sight. Dembe turned to her:

“Shall we?”

“Of course.”

They danced to the sound of a song Liz was sure she’d heard before. Dembe led for a bit, but they switched eventually and ended up twirling each other around the room in turns. It was the kind of fun that Liz rarely had, always worried about something or other. Tonight, however, she had the feeling that whatever was lurking couldn’t get to her. Not today.

The song ended, and the four of them found a place to sit. The waiter showed up not five minutes later with champagne for them and orange juice for Agnes. The fact that the orange juice was in a flute made the girl incredibly happy.

“A toast” Liz raised her glass, “to friendship.”

“To family” Said Dembe

“To love.” Added Red (and now she was sure it was the light, because the way he looked at her could _not_ have been real)

“So,” considered Agnes, “to us.”

“Yes, honey, to us.”

They clinked glasses and drank. The champagne was amazing (because of course it was):

“Who’s party even is this, I don’t think I’ve ever seen any of these people.” Liz had searched the dancing crowd, now smaller since people were taking their seats and having a drink.

“It’s a small gathering of donors for some organisation.”

“_Some_ organisation? Red, please tell me we didn’t crash a random partyt.”

“Lizzie, there’s nothing random about it. I felt like coming here but the venue was reseved.”

“And you just walked in?” She chuckled, not quite believing it.

“Lizzie, the day I can’t get into a party of my choosing is the day I retire.” He said it as if it was a fact. A personal standard he kept regardless of everything else, and Liz laughed. “What? It’s true.” He seemed offended.

They talked for a while. Liz noted once or twice that Red hadn’t mentioned any new lead to her, but she eventually let it go. They’d talk later.

At some point, three children came up to the table behind them. Agnes, turned over the back of the sofa and looked at them. Dembe was in the middle of telling a rather interesting visit to a lighthouse and Liz only noticed the commotion a bit later. The group consisted of two boys and girl. All as well dressed as the adults, but in that messy state that only kids seem to achieve, whether it be from hide-and-seek and tag, or from intrepid expeditions to the realms of under the dinner table. Within three minutes of conversation, the four of them seemed like lifelong friends. Liz smiled, god, childhood was simple!

She turned back to the story for a few seconds before Agnes tapped her in the arm:

“Mommy, can I go play with my friends?”

“Hmm, can I meet them?”

“This is Isadora, Duncan and Quagmire.”

The kids waved

“Hi, Agnes’ mom” said one of the boys. Liz thought he might be Duncan, but Agnes had just waved in their general direction.

“They’re going exploring, can I go?”

“On one condition. To _all _of you. You can only explore this room, okay?”

It was actually cute how they all scooted closer to deliberate

“Okay.”

“Have fun, then.” She chuckled.

Dembe ended up having to tell half the story again, but he didn’t seem to mind.


	14. Chapter 14

“I didn’t even know you had a daughter, let alone a granddaughter.”

“She’s about Agnes’ age. In fact I think they’d get along very well.”

“We have to set a date, I’d love to meet her, and her mom.”

He gave her Isabella’s number and then got up to get a drink from the bar.

I think you are going to be extraordinary friends, Lizzie.” Red commented

“Have you met them?”

“Not quite. I’m not exactly meet the family material. They know _of _me, but we’re not on the “weekend brunch” level.”

“Well, you’re welcome do my weekend brunch. Or weekdays for that matter, as long as you do the cooking.”

She expected a laugh. A dismissive remark or a smirk. She did not expect him to look at her like she held the world in her hands.

“Dance with me, Lizzie.”

\----------

She took his hand and led her out of their small nook. They weren’t quite in the middle of the room, but slightly apart from everyone. He pulled her close and placed his hand on her waist as she set hers on his shoulder. She was warm, he’d noticed that before, but this time it was more present. The ghost of a smile passed her lips as he led her.

He could barely breathe.

There was something intoxicating about her, the way she just _was_, that got him every time. From the endless blue of her eyes to her voice, sweeter than a dream could ever be, and that _look_. The way she looked at him, and she saw right through him without even trying.

\----------

They swayed slowly. Everywhere he touched her trickled with electricity. She realised her eyes had lowered to his lips and looked him in the eye again. Big mistake: It was like looking at the morning sun through the shade of a forest. Something deep and secret just out of reach.

That suited him, really. He was the one puzzle Liz always wanted to go back to, taking pride in getting even the smallest pieces, and slowly dusting the real man into the light, picking away at his secrets and his walls, one by one.

It was unbelievable that Liz could even hear the music over her suddenly very loud heartbeat.

Hearing it or not, the first song ended, and the next one, and the one after that. They kept dancing, unaware of the people around them. That is until someone decided to bump into them.

As a more energic song began, the tension faded, and Liz decided it was a good idea to talk about something (anything, really, before she decided to use her lips to do something stupid, like kissing him, yes that would be _incredibly stupid_).

“Alright, I need to ask you something. And I need you to be honest with me.”

“I’ll try my best, go ahead.”

She took a deep breath:

“I hate pancakes.”

“What?”

“Always have! And yet, this morning, I had one of the best breakfasts of my life. So what the hell did you do?”

He stopped dancing and laughed, and Liz felt as if the best symphony didn’t come close to it.

“_That’s_ your question?”

“Yes.” She pulled him back to the rhythm

“It’s a secret recipe.”

“Family recipe?”

“Maybe” He spun her around and pulled her back to him

“Aw, come on, you’re really not going to tell me?”

“Mm, no.”

“You bastard.”

He shrugged

“Agnes is going to want them again.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to invite me over for breakfast more often.” He dipped her, and Liz was left unsure if her sudden lack of breath was from the surprise or from what he’d said.

Once she was standing again (and had convinced herself that she’d simply moved too fast), she quickly scanned the room for Agnes and found her and her new friends near a column trying to tag each other.

She also spotted Dembe by the bar, in a conversation with a very charmed bartender.

“I’m pretty sure I just lost my ride home.”

“Hm?” Red followed her gaze. “Huh, he’s still got it.”

“Go, Dembe!” She snickered.

They returned to their corner of the room, and Liz took one of the small pastries that had been placed in the table:

“So, out of joke now, I think we should talk.”

“You want to know what I found.”

“Well, yeah.”

“I have an itinerary. All the places Katarina asked to be taken to. There are seven, one is a motel, the other a not-so-legal auto shop. The others I haven’t checked yet. But she paid for one night in the motel under the name Camille Lavaud and left at five thirty in the next morning.”

“Red,” She bit her lip, considering her next words, “I think we should tell them.”

“No.”

“No, look, let me finish. You have five places left to search; help would come in handy. And, what if something happens to you? I really think it’s a good idea.”

“Let’s wait. We need to be careful.”

“Fine, I’ll wait. But we have to tell them_ sometime_.”

“Sometime”

Agnes came up to them, rubbing her eyes:

“Hi, mommy.” She yawned.

“Hey, sweetie.” Liz picked her up into her lap “did you have fun?”

“Mm-hm” she nodded, “But their parents went home.”

“Oh, well, we should go too. It’s getting late”

“Nooo, I like it here. And I’m not tired.”

“But mommy’s sleepy.”

“Alright, then.”

“I’ll tell Dembe. I’ll drive you back.” Red offered.

“No, it’s fine, I’ll get a cab.”

“Lizzie, it would make feel better”

“Alright, sure. Thank you.”

He grinned and left for the bar.


	15. Chapter 15

“You don’t like me.”

Liz turned back. Martha had walked into the elevator shortly before her, with a small nod as a silent good morning. And had stayed silent until they got out. Liz didn’t really mind. She was too happy for unpleasantries. The night before had ended with Agnes falling asleep in the car and Liz carrying her to bed before joining Red in the couch for a drink that was frankly an excuse for conversation. Liz was still trying to figure out if Red’s story about getting a coconut water transfusion was real when Martha had said it out of nowhere:

“I don’t…you’re not…”

“Don’t. I know you don’t like me, it’s pretty obvious. And it would be okay, too, if we had any other job, but sooner or later I’ll have to trust you with my life, and you’ll have to trust me with yours, and that’s not going to go very well unless we fix this, so why don’t you just tell me what the bloody hell I did to you so you’d hate me this much.”

Liz sighed and meditated on her answer for a bit:

“I don’t _hate _you. But you’re right. We started off on the wrong foot. It’s my problem, really. I’ve had some bad experiences with new people and I felt like you were taking Samar’s place. You didn’t actually do anything wrong and I shut you off, I’m sorry.” She held out her hand. No use holding grudges at this point.

“Woah, that was… I wasn’t expecting you to be so nice about this.” She shook her hand. “Friends?” she opened her arms with a smile.

“Uh, sure.” Liz hugged her and they went inside. Liz had a weird feeling, as if something was out of place, as if it was obvious but she just couldn’t see it.

“Oh my, I love your earrings! Where did you get them?”

Liz felt around a carved rose and contained a sigh. The earrings Red gave her were small. _Goes with the loose hair, _he’d said. And they didn’t bother her, so she’d ended up not taking them off.

“Thank you,” She thought about lying, but Martha _was_ right, as much as Liz hated it. they had to start somewhere if this was going to work, “I don’t actually know, they were a gift.”

“Ooohhh, Lizzie, who’s the-”

“Okay, I know what you’re going to say, but don’t.” Martha lost the playful smile. Liz sighed, she didn’t remember friendships taking this much work, “ I have some…rules, I guess. My romantic history is… complicated, at best, so I don’t really like to talk about it. At all. Also, people don’t really call me Lizzie, I like Liz, I really do, so, you know, that’s fine.”

“Wow, um, alright, sure.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll stop.”

“Thanks. Oh, and the whole thing with people not liking you? It’s just because you’re new, it’ll wear off, don’t worry.”

“You really think so?” They were at Martha’s new desk. She didn’t have much there, except for a framed picture of her and the so famous fiance, and suddenly Liz was reminded of another new girl on the block, with the perfect life until someone had burst through it and flipped around. Maybe they weren’t all that different:

“Of course. You know, Ressler _hated_ me when we started working together. If looks could kill, I wouldn’t be here talking to you. And I wasn’t his biggest fan, either. It’s just a little bit of office rivalry, when it comes down to it, we can count on eachother.”

It was funny, really. She and Ressler had once wanted to be out of each other’s lives as soon as possible. Now, she wasn’t sure if she could’ve gotten through half the crap life threw at her without him.

“That’s very reassuring, actually. I was worried about him… What about Aram?”

“You can’t hate_ Aram_. He’s sunshine in human form.”

“No, no, I know. He gave me a tin of _welcome biscuits_. I was asking if he had any problems with anyone.”

“None that wasn’t justified.” 

“Liz, could you be more cryptical, I think I might’ve understood a syllable or two there.”

Liz laughed. It was a good start to the day. And said day actually went on to be normal. And so did the rest of the week. So normal that she almost forgot about the imminent threat hovering over her head. She eventually got a call from Red about a new blacklister: “The Fallen”. They were an organisation of religious fanatics who had decided that everyone needed to be saved, and somehow that had translated into attacking people in what mimicked “acts of God”, they were so good at waiting for the right thunderstorm or flood, that nobody ever linked them to the murders. But Red had learned they were trying to recruit followers to the next attack, and given the task force some help.

The fact that taking down a bunch of preaching lunatics before they took advantage of a wildfire to kill more than 20 people was Liz’s _normal_ said a lot about her current life, but hey, at least nobody had shot at her. 

So, before se knew it, it was Friday night. And that meant movie night. After an early dinner, Liz sat with Agnes in too many pillows and even more blankets and turned on the TV. Tonight was “The Incredibles” and Liz had bought colorful popcorn. It was the best two hours she could’ve asked for. Even if it led to her having to deal with force fields because “I have powers too, mommy, which means you can’t catch me. She put Agnes to bed when she convinced the girl that Liz’s old bathrobe was totally an anti-force-field suit.

She fell asleep with a smile. She remembered some of the games she used to play with Sam as a little girl. Maybe she was doing something right after all.

She woke up early. Early for a Saturday, anyway. She revelled in not having to get up for some time, following the small patches of sunlight that stretched across the ceiling and walls, looking as lazy as she felt. Then she stopped.

There was a vent over her bedroom door. She’d been meaning to clean it for ages now, but she had never really gotten around to it, so she wasn’t sure why the hell the screws on each end were clean. Or why there were small patches without dust.

She slowly got up and unplugged her phone, casually going around her room as if she hadn’t noticed it. She got dressed and headed for the door. And then stayed there.

Liz pulled a small chair she had near her dressing table and put it against the door, balancing herself on top of it. She turned on the camera flash and pointed her phone at the vent.

Half her brain was calling her paranoid. But the other half seemed to be making an excellent point as well.

And technically, it’s not paranoia if it’s true.

Her phone screen showed a camera lens, tiny, but definitely expensive.

_Shit._

Liz fought the urge to run as she headed towards Agnes’ room. She went about her morning until she couldn’t anymore.

“Hey, Agnes, what do you think about going out for breakfast?”

The _yaaaay_ was fairly predictable, and once they were out of the house, she could breathe again.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again!  
So, I've been trying some new stuff with this fic, and I'm not sure about some of them, so if anyone likes a specific part of this leave a comment so I'll get an idea about what needs work  
To everyone that has been leaving kudos and comments, thank you so much, you are awesome <3

When Dembe opened the door, Agnes was still finishing her ham toast:

“Hello, Agnes. Elizabeth,” he smiled. Then he saw her face and the smile was replaced by a worried frown, “What happened?”

“Nothing happened. Right mommy?” Agnes looked up at her.

“Right, we just came to pay a visit.”

The look in her eyes translated to_ something definitely happened but I don’t want to freak Agnes out. Help?_ So Dembe took the lead.

“There’s a cat that comes by every now and then, do you want to try and find it with me?” he asked Agnes, and the girl enthusiastically nodded before taking his hand and following him to the small backyard. Dembe mouthed _living room_ and Elizabeth headed there, her step uncertain.

\----------

Red had been enjoying a Bloody Mary.

The knock on the door left him curious, the sight of Lizzie left him delighted, the sight of _how_ Lizzie was when she knocked left him no chance but to rush to her side.

Her shoulders were stiff and she nervously bit her lips every few seconds, her hands trembled and her eyes shifted around the room as if she expected to be attacked from all sides, and her legs were shaking so much it was a miracle she was standing.

She collapsed on the couch and leaned towards him. He held her as she sobbed silently, and when she was done, he brushed a few strands of hair from her face, stroking her cheek as tenderly as possible:

“Tell me what happened.”

“They were in my house.” Her eyes were cold and for the first time Red realized her tears were from anger. “There are cameras in my house, in my bedroom.”

She straightened up:

“I need her gone.”

“I know, Lizzie, but-”

“No. She’s gone too far. I need to find her. You had a lead, right? How’s that?”

“I’m close. There is only one place left to search. Call the task force, it’s time to tell them.”

That surprised her. The steel in her features gave out and she relaxed a bit:

“What changed your mind?”

“She put cameras in your house.” He said flatly.

She nodded and took out her phone, but before she could tap Cooper’s number, a text popped up. She clenched her jaw.

“What is it?”

“Scottie. She got a package full of pictures of her and some of Agnes and me, all recent. She says she’ll handle her side of it, but I need to be careful.” Lizzie took a deep breath. “Katarina’s trying to cut me off. She’s trying to isolate me from everyone, Scottie was a start.”

Red noticed she’d stopped calling her “my mother” but decided not to comment:

“She’s your safe haven for Agnes. The best way to scare you is make you scared for your daughter. Smart.”

She looked up at him, and he hurriedly completed:

“Despicable, but smart. We know Katarina is not an amateur. I didn’t escape because of a mistake. She wanted me to get to you. She found out about Agnes and then about Scottie. You’re right, she’s making sure you’re alone-”

“So that she’s the only one I have left to turn to.” She looked at him, her head tilted, “It’s you.”

“What?”

“That’s it.” She smiled, “I’ve been trying to figure out why she’s doing this, but we’ve been assuming she changed.”

“She did.”

“She didn’t. She still wants the same. Her daughter.”

“Yes, but Lizzie-”

“No, no, Hear me out. I’ve been looking at this all wrong because it can’t be about me.” She got up and started pacing, her mind racing as she put the pieces together. It really was a wonderful view, the way she figured things out. He picked up his drink.

If anyone heard her now, they wouldn’t know that her and her daughter’s life hung in the balance. Her eyes wide, and her movements surer, completely absorbed in her questions and whatever answers she was getting at. She looked like a scientist on the verge of screaming Eureka:

“Almost thirty years ago, she gave up her daughter. She disappeared from the face of the earth and the world believes she’s dead. She never checks up, maybe she doesn’t want to, maybe she can’t. But then… The Cabal.” She turned to him again, “We were all over the news. People _knew _I was Masha, and she found out about you. That’s why she’s against you. You were part of my life, and she knows that, and she blames you for… Oh.”

“Oh, what.”

“She thinks you replaced her.”

He choked on his drink. After he managed to stop coughing, he looked up at her, infinitely aware of how wide his eyes were open, and how red his face had turned. He prayed to every religion’s god that she didn’t notice:

“She thinks I _what_?”

The frown on her face tranquilized him a bit. He might’ve not been planning to act on anything, but the last thing he needed was for another “you’re my father” situation.

“I think she blames you for it. She thinks you took her place as a parental figure in my life, and she hates you for it. Honestly, if I agreed with her, I’d hate you too. I don’t think it’s a father’s job to make his daughter an international fugitive.”

“You don’t agree with her.” It got caught between a question and a hope. It never hurt to check.

“What? No! No offense, of course. I love you, but no.”

\----------

She didn’t look at him as she said it. Last time she’d looked him in the eye. A desperate plea for him to just _get_ it, but now she didn’t feel as brave. Then again, last time he’d been dying.

He didn’t answer and she left the room to call the guys for lunch. Because what better way to tell them that there’s a supposedly dead Russian spy hellbent on hurting everyone around her?

As she was waiting for Ressler to pick up, she thought back to the previous conversation.

Red had the same look on his face as last time. As if he couldn’t believe her. Or maybe he didn’t want to. It made sense. Maybe he just saw her as… as what? She was never sure. Sometimes it felt like they were in the same page, and then they were barely in the same library.

No matter what she had once thought. She couldn’t bear her life without him anymore. Even if there was nothing else to the two of them, he had to at least care. Otherwise, _why_?

Suddenly her mind slid to their fight. _Pity._ She had said it to hurt him, to make him react, but what if… what if that was it? What if he stayed because…_No_. After everything, it couldn’t be that. It couldn’t…

“Liz?” Ressler’s voice crackled in the other end of the line. “Are you there?”

“Yeah. Sorry. Are you busy today?”

“Not really, no. Why?”

“I was thinking about lunch, you know, all of us, just to blow off some steam” _or the exact opposite _“I heard about this great place downtown.”

“Yeah, sounds good, text me the address and I’ll meet you guys there.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again!  
so, I've been trying some new stuff with this fic, and I'm not sure about dome of them, so if anyone likes a specific part of this leave a comment so I'll get an idea about what needs work  
To everyone that has been leaving kudos and comments, thank you so much, you are awesome <3

When Dembe opened the door, Agnes was still finishing her ham toast:

“Hello, Agnes. Elizabeth,” he smiled. Then he saw her face and the smile was replaced by a worried frown, “What happened?”

“Nothing happened. Right mommy?” Agnes looked up at her.

“Right, we just came to pay a visit.”

The look in her eyes translated to_ something definitely happened but I don’t want to freak Agnes out. Help?_ So Dembe took the lead.

“There’s a cat that comes by every now and then, do you want to try and find it with me?” he asked Agnes, and the girl enthusiastically nodded before taking his hand and following him to the small backyard. Dembe mouthed _living room_ and Elizabeth headed there, her step uncertain.

\----------

Red had been enjoying a Bloody Mary.

The knock on the door left him curious, the sight of Lizzie left him delighted, the sight of _how_ Lizzie was when she knocked left him no chance but to rush to her side.

Her shoulders were stiff and she nervously bit her lips every few seconds, her hands trembled and her eyes shifted around the room as if she expected to be attacked from all sides, and her legs were shaking so much it was a miracle she was standing.

She collapsed on the couch and leaned towards him. He held her as she sobbed silently, and when she was done, he brushed a few strands of hair from her face, stroking her cheek as tenderly as possible:

“Tell me what happened.”

“They were in my house.” Her eyes were cold and for the first time Red realized her tears were from anger. “There are cameras in my house, in my bedroom.”

She straightened up:

“I need her gone.”

“I know, Lizzie, but-”

“No. She’s gone too far. I need to find her. You had a lead, right? How’s that?”

“I’m close. There is only one place left to search. Call the task force, it’s time to tell them.”

That surprised her. The steel in her features gave out and she relaxed a bit:

“What changed your mind?”

“She put cameras in your house.” He said flatly.

She nodded and took out her phone, but before she could tap Cooper’s number, a text popped up. She clenched her jaw.

“What is it?”

“Scottie. She got a package full of pictures of her and some of Agnes and me, all recent. She says she’ll handle her side of it, but I need to be careful.” Lizzie took a deep breath. “Katarina’s trying to cut me off. She’s trying to isolate me from everyone, Scottie was a start.”

Red noticed she’d stopped calling her “my mother” but decided not to comment:

“She’s your safe haven for Agnes. The best way to scare you is make you scared for your daughter. Smart.”

She looked up at him, and he hurriedly completed:

“Despicable, but smart. We know Katarina is not an amateur. I didn’t escape because of a mistake. She wanted me to get to you. She found out about Agnes and then about Scottie. You’re right, she’s making sure you’re alone-”

“So that she’s the only one I have left to turn to.” She looked at him, her head tilted, “It’s you.”

“What?”

“That’s it.” She smiled, “I’ve been trying to figure out why she’s doing this, but we’ve been assuming she changed.”

“She did.”

“She didn’t. She still wants the same. Her daughter.”

“Yes, but Lizzie-”

“No, no, Hear me out. I’ve been looking at this all wrong because it can’t be about me.” She got up and started pacing, her mind racing as she put the pieces together. It really was a wonderful view, the way she figured things out. He picked up his drink.

If anyone heard her now, they wouldn’t know that her and her daughter’s life hung in the balance. Her eyes wide, and her movements surer, completely absorbed in her questions and whatever answers she was getting at. She looked like a scientist on the verge of screaming Eureka:

“Almost thirty years ago, she gave up her daughter. She disappeared from the face of the earth and the world believes she’s dead. She never checks up, maybe she doesn’t want to, maybe she can’t. But then… The Cabal.” She turned to him again, “We were all over the news. People _knew _I was Masha, and she found out about you. That’s why she’s against you. You were part of my life, and she knows that, and she blames you for… Oh.”

“Oh, what.”

“She thinks you replaced her.”

He choked on his drink. After he managed to stop coughing, he looked up at her, infinitely aware of how wide his eyes were open, and how red his face had turned. He prayed to every religion’s god that she didn’t notice:

“She thinks I _what_?”

The frown on her face tranquilized him a bit. He might’ve not been planning to act on anything, but the last thing he needed was for another “you’re my father” situation.

“I think she blames you for it. She thinks you took her place as a parental figure in my life, and she hates you for it. Honestly, if I agreed with her, I’d hate you too. I don’t think it’s a father’s job to make his daughter an international fugitive.”

“You don’t agree with her.” It got caught between a question and a hope. It never hurt to check.

“What? No! No offense, of course. I love you, but no.”

She didn’t look at him as she said it. Last time she’d looked him in the eye. A desperate plea for him to just _get_ it, but now she didn’t feel as brave. Then again, last time he’d been dying.

He didn’t answer and she left the room to call the guys for lunch. Because what better way to tell them that there’s a supposedly dead Russian spy hellbent on hurting everyone around her?

As she was waiting for Ressler to pick up, she thought back to the previous conversation.

Red had the same look on his face as last time. As if he couldn’t believe her. Or maybe he didn’t want to. It made sense. Maybe he just saw her as… as what? She was never sure. Sometimes it felt like they were in the same page, and then they were barely in the same library.

No matter what she had once thought. She couldn’t bear her life without him anymore. Even if there was nothing else to the two of them, he had to at least care. Otherwise, _why_?

Suddenly her mind slid to their fight. _Pity._ She had said it to hurt him, to make him react, but what if… what if that was it? What if he stayed because…_No_. After everything, it couldn’t be that. It couldn’t…

“Liz?” Ressler’s voice crackled in the other end of the line. “Are you there?”

“Yeah. Sorry. Are you busy today?”

“Not really, no. Why?”

“I was thinking about lunch, you know, all of us, just to blow off some steam” _or the exact opposite _“I heard about this great place downtown.”

“Yeah, sounds good, text me the address and I’ll meet you guys there.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this week was a mess. I just started my last year of school and have tons of homework, so the updating schedule will change a bit. I'll probably start posting the new chapters on weekends, and maybe just one a week.   
don't worry though. Our favorite idiots will eventually stop being so oblivious (mostly after everyone in their lives just goes Hellooo??)  
Anyway, I am, and I cannot stress this enough, incredibly nervous about a lot of things in this fic, mainly the constant switching of POV, so if you have anything to say, leave a comment. Constructive criticism is always appreciated.💜💜💜  
sorry for the late update, and to everyone who's been reading, leaving comments and kudos, I love you guys, you're awesome! 😊

Liz hadn’t actually believed there was a cat. She was already preparing herself to a pouting Agnes to come to her, broken-hearted about not finding the poor thing. Yet, here she was, not ten feet away from Agnes and Dembe sitting on the floor with a purring ball of white fur between them. Liz could hear her asking Dembe about everything that came to mind, and Dembe patiently explaining it to her.

“Elizabeth.”

She turned as Red came to sit beside her. He smiled at her. It was a sad smile, the kind that comes from a dark place to try and soothe someone else’s darkness. It was the kind of smile that hurt. She looked away. At her daughter:

“I’m an idiot.”

“I’d say we all are for the right reasons, but why?”

“I can’t believe I thought I could do this.”

He turned to her, smile gone, and brow furrowed:

“Do what?”

“This. Bring her home, have a normal life. I can never do that, not with the kind of life I have.” She realized what she sounded like, “It’s not you.” She turned to him, “I’m not saying it’s you. It’s just. It’s always _something_, Red. And every single time I think that it’s finally over, something bigger ad more dangerous comes along. I’m just… so tired. And so scared, all the time. For her, for me, for you… sometimes I think I should just go back to that cabin.”

She didn’t mean it. or did she? The truth is, when she’d been away, her daughter had been safe, and so had Red, and her friends. And nobody had been hurt.

“Don’t.” he said.

She turned only to find him staring at her, as if she had threatened to throw herself off a building.

“Don’t you dare say that. Lizzie, this is not your fault. This is… yes, it’s dangerous, but you’re not alone in it. You never have to be alone, not as long as I’m here. And I promise you: you and Agnes are going to be safe. I’ll do everything I can and more. You will be safe.”

If anyone else had said it, she’d be rolling her eyes or accepting empty words. But it was the way Red said it, not wishful thinking, but a fact, written in stone. How he always said the things that mattered. As if they were his last words. It was the way he’d always held up his word.

The way he slowly wrapped his arms around her, and the way she felt safe. They stayed like that for some time, and even when they parted, none of them spoke. There was something about the silences between them, sometimes they didn’t need words. Other times even the right words sounded wrong. But this, this felt right.

After some time, he looked at nowhere in particular as he took her hand:

“I’ve been thinking, and, um…”

Liz looked at him. After so long, she liked to think that she knew his tells. That she could read him. Usually, when he tried to look at anywhere but her, he was about to say one of those things that made her heart skip a beat. He chewed on his cheek for a moment and kept looking away from her:

“I think you should stay the night.”

It was the rational thing to do, it was a rational decision based on the dangerous fact that there were cameras at her house. The blush on her cheeks couldn’t care less.

And as it turns out, the whole not-looking-at-each-other routine seemed to be the best bet, because the concrete steps they were sitting on suddenly became a lot more interesting when she mumbled her “I think you’re right.”

\----------

Agnes seemed satisfied with Dembe’s answer to _why don’t the flowers just get bigger?_ for the moment. Granted, it had taken some inner brainstorming on the spot, but Ellie asked questions like those constantly and would never take _I don’t know _for an answer, so he’d gotten used to it.

The girl looked back at the house and squealed:

“Mommy! Red! We found the kitty.”

The two of them had definitely looked better, and Dembe was almost sure Elizabeth had been crying, but still, they smiled and came outside to join them:

“I see that.” Elizabeth scratched the animal’s neck and it meowed blissfully.

“Can we take it home?” Agnes asked, hopeful

She took a while to answer:

“Actually, we’re not going home for a while.”

Raymond and Elizabeth looked at each other, trying to figure out how to say it. Raymond took the lead.

“Agnes, do you remember the time you spent with your nana? Do you know why you stayed with her?

“Mommy was worried about the bad guys.” The girl nodded

Something inside Dembe broke a little when he remembered who the bad guys had been at the time.

“Yeah, honey. And I’m not sure if there aren’t any more bad guys, so it’s safer if we stay here.” Elizabeth smiled meekly.

“Are you staying with me, mommy?”

“Of course. Yes, of course, sweetheart, don’t worry about that, mommy’s not going anywhere.”

Agnes stopped petting the cat for a bit and it decided it rather be anywhere else, and she ran to catch it.

“Come on, help. I’m little. I can’t run that much.” She tugged on Raymond’s sleeve and he got up. Dembe felt that the man was grateful for the distraction.

When the pair had been rummaging through bushes for a few seconds, Dembe turned to Elizabeth: 

“What happened, Elizabeth.”

She tore her eyes from Raymond and Agnes and the playful smile on her face died out.

“Katarina threatened Scottie,” she sighed “she put my house under surveillance. Red thought it might be a good idea to not go back for a while, until this is fixed.”

“I see. That means she keeps the cat, right?”

Elizabeth laughed. It was nice to see her look a little less anxious.

Dembe’s mind was racing. Surveillance was easy. You followed someone home and waited until they left before placing cameras and microphones where nobody will look. But as far as he knew, Katarina hadn’t been anywhere near Elizabeth while she was in contact with Scottie, and it wasn’t an easy association. Maybe she had found out at the day-care centre but still… something was off.

His thought process was interrupted by Raymond coming back with Agnes holding on of his hands, and the cat nestled somewhere across the other. They sat in a small circle with the little beast in the middle, parading between them.

“So, can I keep it or not?” Agnes looked at Elizabeth.

“Don’t look at me, you have to ask the owner of the house.” She shrugged.

“Oh, why would you do that. Poor Aidan is the Seychelles enjoying his early retirement. You’re going to disturb him over a cat? Keep it, Agnes.”

Dembe stifled a laugh at Elizabeth’s slightly stunned expression as she rationalized that it should be fine, and they were probably not trespassing (probably) and was quickly roped in about the next big crisis. What on earth were they going to name the cat?

Ten minutes later, Dembe, Raymond, Agnes, and the newly named Duchess left for the vet, because Elizabeth insisted they made sure the cat wasn’t anyone else’s, and Agnes insisted she needed a pink bow.

Dembe figured he should probably get a pet for Ellie too. Isabella would surely kill him with glares alone, but if it made the little girl half as happy as Agnes was, he’d gladly take it. Besides, what are grandparents for?


End file.
